


Just a Small Nip

by prestissimo



Series: Lost Entries from the Daily Ledger of Nicolas de Lenfent [8]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Accidental Death, Gen, M/M, Pining, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 01:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19263034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prestissimo/pseuds/prestissimo
Summary: After Lestat leaves the Théâtre (and Nicolas) for Cairo, the pining, now vampiric, musician manages to continue his social engagements. He meets an old wealthy friend and former patron at a libertine salon gathering. She tries to raise his spirits by giving him a talking-to.





	Just a Small Nip

In the darkness of the balcony, Nicolas felt his breathing calm as the cool air of the night wrapped around his face. Rochard’s hand was hot in his own and he thought he could see the veins simmering beneath her skin as she turned her face up towards him.

“What happened?” she asked softly, her face full of sympathy.

“I have repeated it often enough with few to believe me,” Nicolas replied, a sullenness creeping up on him.

“Is it…is it finished between the two of you? I mean—” she asked.

“I don’t know!” Nicolas hissed, and turned away from the light of the party so he might not be overheard. “He’s gone. He’s gone and I heard he might be in Cairo but I don’t know!”

“Does he send letters?”

“Mademoiselle Rochard,” Nicolas said, his lips in a tight line. His hands had begun to shake and he was very hungry, but she was a friend and a confidant and she had always respected his privacy. “Danielle. Please.”

“You can’t hide it from me,” she said, putting a dainty hand on his back as he leaned his elbows against the stone balustrade. “We all knew. You could see it in his eyes and yours, whenever you brought him.”

“I don’t…that’s all in the past now. We’re finished, Dani, we are finished, and he is not going to come back for me,” Nicolas said through gritted teeth. It hurt more, somehow, to say it now, out loud, to someone so apart from his life now. He put his hands up to his face and mussed his hair as he ran his fingers through it as if he could rip off his scalp. “I can’t…I must allow myself to think of something else. We will pass into history.”

“You need more to drink,” Danielle decided.

“I’ve had enough for a lifetime,” Nicolas said with a bitter laugh, and tossed the crystal coupe glass, still full, into the bushes. He turned to her and he looked profoundly hurt then, too young for this, and she wondered how he could seem frozen in time, a statue waiting to be awoken. He gently ran a finger along her cheek and neared her face to speak intimately, as if they would kiss. She brought up a fan as if to hide their activity. “I shall always thirst. But worry not. That little monster in there has me well in hand.”

“What, the boy? You take your revolutionary ideas too far. Just because someone with his father’s money decides he wants—“

“Do not allow his appearance to deceive you! He is a sadist and a thieving fiend, and he will drive me to the grave if it will serve his purposes,” Nicolas whispered in her ear. “Do not trust him! Do not believe what emerges from those cupid lips! He is a monster!”

“Listen to me. He is a mere boy!” Danielle Rochard said, steadying Nicki’s head by placing hands on both sides of his face. “You have always been so sensitive, my dear, but you are letting your grief color your understanding of the world. You are young but you are still a man! Why are you abandoning all your previous pursuits?”

“What previous pursuits?” Nicolas snarled, shoving himself away from her. The buzz of the crowd dimmed around the doorway, and rose again as they looked at one another in the moonlight. She lifted her hands to comfort, and he covered his face and turned away to lean his elbows on the balustrade, away from curious ears and prying eyes. “I have nothing of my own.”

“You’re an idiot,” she exclaimed, and slapped him on the back of his head. He yelped in surprise, and turned to back away from her in bewilderment. “Look at you! Dressed head to toe in finery and jewels, and you say you have nothing of your own? Open your fancy little flat on the Ile de la Cite to the rabble, and then tell me that you have nothing to call your own! You ungrateful child!”

“Ungrateful?!” Nicolas snarled. It was turning into a full-fledged argument now. “You know nothing of what I’ve been through!”

“What, never had your heart broken before? Spare me,” Rochard replied, her color high in her cheeks. “Not all of us were paid a fortune to forget our lovers! You could do anything! You could go anywhere! Instead you let yourself fester by yourself and when I do see you, it’s nothing but a sullen whine.”

“I-” Nicolas began, then broke off, realizing she was right. There wasn’t anything stopping him. What was a little instability? A tropical fever. He had almost put it behind him. He could leave the theatre. He’d make plans tonight, get tickets through Milan, then sleep through the day while his heavy trunk traveled. He’d find Lestat and tell him exactly what he’d said wrong. He’d find him and show him. And they would understand one another again and it would be as before, only, now they had an eternity to talk about the mysteries they would see. They could talk forever. “It’s a lovely dream,” he murmured, subdued, his expression sober and resigned as he sat down on the stone bench installed beside a decorative bush. He was out of sight of the party here. He looked so forlorn that Mlle. Rochard joined him.

“I don’t mean to use you so roughly,” she said not unkindly. “But you are a man. You have the means to do anything you imagine. What are you waiting for?”

“I’ve been afraid of the ghosts in my own mind,” he confessed, letting her lean her head on his shoulder. She smelled of lavender and roses, and she was right. He could do it tonight. Tomorrow even. He’d hand in his resignation. They’d have to get on without him. What was the music when he could make something passing for happiness instead?

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, looking towards the candles of the party. He placed a solicitous arm around her shoulders. “There are several writing sets for travel use. I wouldn’t even have to stop working.”

“Shall I send word to my housekeeper in Cairo?” She asked with a smile, surprised that this was all it took.

“I just need the music. I need him to understand. If I have to go to Cairo to do it, I’ll make the preparations tomorrow,” Nicolas decided. “I’ve made travel plans before. Why not again?”

“It wasn’t so long ago that you came to us. Paris has smoothed you out, pampered you into a true gentleman. You might not know how to behave on the road anymore!” She teased. “Are you sure you won’t wear your riding leathers to the tavern?”

“Madame, I shall comport myself as any gentleman must on a journey to the desert,” he said loftily.

“Well, save me an embrace until I join you there, and may I be invited to your reunion dinner,” she said. “It has been so long since we have entertained one another.” Her hand wandered to his back down towards his waist and then cupped lower, pulling him closer. She turned her head and offered her cheek to be kissed.

“Ah, you may regret your request,” Nicolas replied with a grin, reaching for her neck and ducking with her deeper into the shadows. He could feel the thirst and the blood pulling at him, and desperately he tamped down on the horror and the memory of this feeling, tugging at every single nerve in his being and tempting him to truly cast himself down to the basest of desires.

“Shh, I’ll take care of you,” Danielle Rochard whispered, sighing a little as he exposed her neck and kissed it softly, feeling beholden for her kindness. She carded her fingers past his hair and made gentle, pitying sounds.

“Just a small nip,” he murmured to himself, unknowningly already pitching her into a prey-like trance. He could feel the grief and loneliness leap out of him and latch onto the favor of her company. Here was the lush life he missed, the warm light of a friend’s smile, the  _blood_.

It tok an entire evening to sort out the commotion of the dead hostess, and Nicolas remained locked in guilt and anger over having murdered not only a friend, but a potential ally. He never really knew if Armand ever discovered his plan, but Armand never needed a reason to punish Nicolas. Not when the violinist amply provided as many as he could.


End file.
